Beyond Compare

by Penny Jordan

  She, too, turned to her work for escape, diligently concentrating on applying the delicate stencil to the painted cupboard doors. As she filled in the outline of the pretty, fresh green leaves, she tried not to imagine Rosamund working in this kitchen, using these cupboards that Drew had built so well.

  Only that morning she had spoken on the phone to Jan, telling her that so far Nantwich looked the most likely venue for the new shop. Jan had been so enthusiastic that she hadn't felt able to tell her of her own reluctance to proceed with their plans. Was it really wise of her to allow herself to remain so close to Drew? Wouldn't it be more sensible to return just as soon as she could to London?

  But careerwise there would never be another opportunity like this one, and she was going to need her career, she admitted grimly; because she knew now that she would never marry, never have a child without Drew.

  In today's post had come a sheaf of details from local estate agents of various shop properties in the three areas they had investigated. One in particular in Nantwich had caught her eye: a rather neglected, double-fronted shop property with a spacious flat above it, and, even better, a generous garden behind it.

  The price was within the limits she and Jan had discussed, and Jan had urged her to make further investigations. Her car was outside, she could drive to Nantwich quite easily if she wished, and arrange to view the property, but once she did that she would have taken the first step in committing herself to staying within Drew's orbit. To condemning herself to a life of living in proximity to a man she loved and could never have. So instead she concentrated on her stencil, trying to hold back time and the decision she had to make.

  She would do it after the countess's party, she told herself, after she and Drew had discussed what they were going to do, how they were going to end their supposed relationship, because she was quite sure that was what Drew had on his mind. One last-ditch attempt to convince Rosamund that he was the one she loved, and, whatever the outcome, their plan was finished with.

  Holly had a dim memory of her parents attending the countess's famous parties, and recollected that a gift of some sort had been de rigueur. She mentioned it to Drew when he came in. She saw that he was looking at the pile of estate agents' papers on the table and said uncertainly, 'They came this morning. There's one in Nantwich that sounds ideal. Jan wants me to go and view it…'

  'When are you going?' he asked her, frowning, as though his thoughts were really elsewhere.

  Probably on Rosamund and how difficult it could be if she decided to remain in the area once he and Rosamund were back together. Holly was sure he must be bitterly regretting making love to her, but she couldn't find the words to tell him that any fears he had of her revealing what had happened to Rosamund were groundless. No matter what the provocation, she could never sully her very precious memories by using them in a vindictive kind of way. It simply wasn't in her nature, and it hurt that he shouldn't know this without having to be told.

  'After…after the countess's party,' she told him quietly, and watched as he gave her a quick look.

  His frown lightened as he questioned, 'So you're still considering going ahead with the partnership… with staying in the area?'

  Why should he look and sound so pleased? It ran completely contrary to her own anguished thoughts, and for a moment she could only stare at him.

  'Er—yes,' she managed to answer at last. 'Yes, I am. It's far too good a career opportunity to give up,' she added in a husky voice, so that he didn't think it was because of him, because she was cherishing any foolish and impossible dreams.

  'What about Howard? If he drops Rosamund, it's unlikely that her father will keep him on.'

  For a moment her face was blank, as though she was having great difficulty in remembering who Howard was, and then it cleared.

  She almost told him that she couldn't care less what Howard did, and that, moreover, she doubted that he would ever consider giving up a wealthy bride like Rosamund for someone like her. Then she reminded herself that, although the scales had fallen from her eyes, they still blinded Drew, and he would not want to hear that she believed that Rosamund and Howard were perfect for one another, both being equally self-obsessed and selfish.

  'I'll cross that bridge if and when I come to it,' she contented herself with saying lightly, before returning to her original question about what she could get the countess as a birthday gift.

  'She had a collection of antique button hooks,' Drew told her. 'I know a place in Chester that sells them. We could have lunch at the Grosvenor on Saturday and buy her a present at the same time.'

  It made her dizzy to think that he actually wanted to spend time with her. All week he seemed to have been avoiding her, and now here he was casually suggesting that they spend almost all day together.

  'If you're sure you don't mind. I know you've been busy—' she began breathlessly.

  As he turned away from her she thought she heard him mutter under his breath, 'Yes, busy trying to stop myself from thinking about how you felt in my arms.'

  But the words were husky and low-toned, and she suspected she must have imagined them, conjuring them up out of her own reckless love.

  By Saturday the snow had gone, but the morning dawned clear and sharp with frost and a bright November day.

  Holly were her red dress again and her black coat, knowing that the colours suited her. Drew was wearing the blouson she had chosen, and as she crossed the farmyard with him she ached to be free to tell him how masculine and desirable he looked.

  New clothes hadn't changed the man he was—they couldn't—but they had underlined the special maleness of him, and her heart thumped precariously as she watched him move, lean and long-limbed and very, very much a man.

  Chester was busy, packed with pre-Christmas shoppers, but Holly liked the busy atmosphere, the sense of community, the familiarity of the Cheshire accent mingling with the drawled vowels of Chester's wealthy county set. She felt at home here, comfortable and at ease.

  She laughed as she watched a group of children standing in front of a tumbling clown. Musicians played on the corners of the streets, cheerful, smiling students with placards proclaiming their musical status. It was an innovative way for students to earn extra money, and the crowds seemed to like it, being generous with the silver they dropped into the upturned hat.

  Christmas. A feeling of melancholy suddenly struck her. Where would she be then? Back in London in her lonely flat? Last year she had spent Christmas with Jan. They would invite her to join them again this year, but she still did not feel entirely at ease with their sophisticated crowd. If she had the money and the time, she could fly out to her brother and parents. They would welcome her.

  Given free choice, though, there was only one place she wanted to be, one person she wanted to spend such an evocative and emotional season with.

  Drew.

  She looked up at him, and caught him watching her with a sombre expression.

  'Don't,' he said rawly, and her throat closed with tears. Had he read the love in her eyes and warned her not to betray it? For both their sakes? But she realised she was wrong when he added, 'He isn't worth it, Holly. He isn't worth a single one of your tears, damn him,' he added gruffly, and to her astonishment he took hold of her in the middle of the crowded street and held her in his arms, hugging her briefly, his mouth tender against the closed corners of her eyes.

  She could have stayed there for ever, and would have done if a crowd of laughing teenagers hadn't forced them apart.

  'We ought to go and find the countess's present,' she told Drew.

  'Yes. Come on, this way.'

  The small antique shop was packed with treasures, and on a different occasion Holly could have quite happily spent the rest of the day browsing there.

  The owner had a good selection of hooks to show them, and in the end they bought two that formed a pair. Watching them being packed away in a worn case, Holly couldn't help wondering where she would be the next time th
e countess had a birthday. Not with Drew. Never again with Drew…

  The Grosvenor was packed, but Holly was glad; its busyness stopped her from brooding and made it impossible for them to have any kind of personal conversation.

  They left after they had had lunch, Holly shaking her head when Drew asked her if she would like to call on his mother and stepfather. The day had been enough of a strain without adding that. What would Drew tell his mother? The truth? That they had played a game out of innocence and love, not meaning to hurt or wound, not meaning to deceive? Holly hoped his mother would understand. She rather suspected that she might.

  When they got back, Drew left to check on the stock. Holly made a pot of tea, wrapped the countess's present in the pretty paper they had bought, and wrote out the card that Drew had insisted was to come from both of them. She looked at their names and had to bite down hard on her bottom lip to stop herself from bursting into tears.

  Drew had already warned her that the countess was inclined to be parsimonious, and that the antiquated central-heating system of Elsworth Park was not inclined to be efficient, and so she wore a new wool dress in steel-grey, its plainness relieved by the sparkle of rhinestones across the shoulders and down the sleeves.

  The dress was short and cut to skim her curves flatteringly. With it she wore fine, dark grey silk tights and her one and only pair of good high-heeled evening shoes.

  The black velvet coat she had worn that afternoon was the only one she had that was suitable to wear over the dress, and she acknowledged a little despondently as she studied her reflection that her dress, with its neat, high collar and long sleeves, was hardly likely to excite male desire.

  However, when she went downstairs Drew looked at her for a long time in silence in a way that made her heart flutter until she told herself that she was being stupid.

  Drew himself looked vigorously attractive in his evening clothes, and she could only marvel that she had ever compared him unfavourably to Howard. There was something subtle and enticing about the hard play of muscles beneath the matt fabric. She wanted to go up to him and touch him.

  Quickly quelling the impulse, she gave him an over-bright smile and picked up the countess's present.

  'Ready?' he asked her.

  Silently, she nodded.

  Elsworth Park had been built in the late eighteenth century by an eccentric millionaire ancestor of the countess's, who, it was rumoured, had inherited his wealth from a slave-trading uncle in the West Indies. Whether or not this was true, it was a story that was often repeated with relish and embellishment locally, even by the countess herself, who rather enjoyed her family's aristocratic eccentricity.

  She was receiving her guests in some state in what had once been the drawing-room. Holly found the combination of so much faded magenta silk and gilt rather overpowering, but there was no denying the beauty of the Savonnaire rug that covered the floor.

  The countess received her graciously, recollecting her parents with apparent ease, but her real warmth was reserved for Drew, whom she greeted in very much the manner of an eighteenth-century beauty with a favoured courtier.

  Watching Drew with her, Holly could only applaud both his tact and his kindness. She herself moved discreetly to one side, tensing when she heard Rosamund's familiar voice at her elbow.

  The other girl was wearing a vivid blue puffball dress that exposed her tanned arms and shoulders and revealed the upper swell of her breasts. Privately Holly thought the colour too strong for her, but there was no denying the expensive exclusivity of the pure silk dress. Rosamund was wearing satin shoes dyed to match, and she studied Holly's own plain grey outfit with barely concealed contempt.

  'Didn't Drew warn you that this was a formal "do"?' she taunted her cattily.

  Holly didn't allow herself to respond. What was the point?

  'God, why on earth doesn't he tell the old bat to get lost?' she commented viciously, watching the countess flirt outrageously with Drew.

  'Perhaps because he doesn't want to hurt her feelings,' Holly responded with dignity.

  'He won't marry you, you know,' Rosamund added conversationally. 'Take my advice… go back to London before it's too late and you make a complete fool of yourself. Who knows,' she added carelessly, 'you might even be able to persuade Howard to take you back.'

  'Howard? But he's engaged to you,' Holly protested.

  'Not any more,' Rosamund told her, and, seeing the predatory way her glance settled on Drew's broad shoulders, Holly's heart sank. Without saying the words, Rosamund was letting her know that she considered Drew to be her very private property and that she fully intended to reclaim him.

  She permitted herself one tiny dig, keeping her head held high as she said quietly, 'You surprise me. I should have thought the two of you were ideally suited.'

  Rosamund stared at her, her pale blue eyes like chips of ice.

  'Drew is mine,' she told her flatly, and Holly actually took a step backwards, so vicious was the look she gave her. 'Mine,' Rosamund reiterated, 'and no one, least of all a simpering little fool like you, is going to take him away from me.'

  Without another word, she turned on her heel and walked up to Drew, linking her arm through his, almost dragging him away from the countess. Holly stood and watched them, unable to do or say anything.

  Their plan had worked… but with what bitter consequences for her! She suspected that she was going to have to resign herself to being a wallflower for the rest of the evening, but to her astonishment Drew returned within five minutes.

  'Why didn't you say you weren't feeling well?' he exclaimed.

  'What?'

  'Rosamund just told me that you weren't feeling well and that you'd said you wanted to leave.'

  'I…'

  Rosamund had told him that?

  She was still wondering why when Rosamund herself came toward them, tucking a proprietorial arm through Drew's as she said to Holly with insincerity, 'Oh, you're still here, then. Look, why don't I get Dad's chauffeur to run you back to the farm? You look terrible. So pale…'

  No doubt she did in contrast to Rosamund's glowing tan, Holly acknowledged grimly.

  'There's no need for that,' Drew said quietly, disengaging himself. 'I'll take Holly home.'

  'Oh, Drew, no! There's no need for you to leave. I'm sure Holly doesn't want to spoil your evening. In fact, I suspect she's looking forward to making a sneaky phone call to Howard,' she added archly. 'Our engagement's off. And if Holly's anything like as crazy about Howard as he said, then she must be desperately anxious to speak to him. They do say the best way to catch a man is on the rebound, don't they?' she added with a tiny laugh that jarred on Holly's nerves. And suddenly, she did feel very sick indeed.

  She swayed where she stood, hating Rosamund with an intensity she had never experienced in her life, not even when she had thought she had stolen Howard from her.

  She heard Drew saying quietly, 'I think you've said enough, Rosamund,' and then, above her shrill protests, adding, 'I'm taking Holly home.'

  'The countess,' Holly whispered, as he put his arm around her and guided her towards the door.

  'She'll understand. I'll telephone and explain tomorrow.'

  Outside, in the cold night air, Holly breathed deeply, trying to stop the shudders wrenching her apart inside.

  Drew didn't say a word during the drive back, but she could sense the tension in him and knew that he must be bitterly disappointed at hating to leave Rosamund. Not that he had anything to worry about. The other woman had made it more than plain how she felt about him.

  These thoughts much to the forefront of her mind as Drew unlocked the kitchen door, she said tiredly, 'Well, at least our plan worked. Rosamund wants you back, Drew. She told me as much earlier. You must want to get back to her. It was good of you to bring me home, but there's no need to stay…'

  'No need? Is it true, Holly?' he demanded harshly. 'Do you want to get me out of the way so that you can plead with Neston to take you back?'<
br />
  'No.'

  Real revulsion thickened her voice, and before she could stop herself she felt the tears press hotly against her eyes and slide relentlessly down her face.

  'Oh, God, Holly! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you.'

  He came toward her and Holly knew that he was going to take hold of her. Desperately she backed away, and begged, 'No, Drew, please don't touch me.'

  He went stock still and stared at her, his face suddenly as pale as her own, and then abruptly it burned with dark colour.

  'I see,' he said stiffly. 'Of course, I should have realised how you'd feel. I suppose you think you can't go back to Neston because of what happened with me… because we made love. God dammit, Holly, doesn't the fact that we did, and you and he never did, tell you anything?' he demanded explosively.

  'Yes,' she said woodenly. 'It tells me that you're a very sensual man, desperately missing the woman you love, and that I'm…' And then her voice became totally suspended as her throat locked.

  'And that you're what, Holly?' Drew demanded thickly, ignoring her earlier plea and taking her into his arms. 'Sorry that you can't love me the way I love you? Sorry that you made love with me? Sorry that…'

  Within his arms, Holly tensed and then demanded tearfully, 'Say that again.'

  'Say what again?'

  'That you love me!'

  He hesitated and then said quietly, 'Didn't you already know it? Everyone else does.'

  'No… I thought you loved Rosamund.'

  'After the way I made love to you?' he demanded drily. 'Holly, I've never loved Rosamund. She's an avaricious, scheming, stupid woman, and besides, how could I possibly love her when I've always loved you?'

  'Always?' she whispered, her eyes enormous.

  'Since you were sixteen,' he whispered back, bending to capture the tremor of her mouth as though he couldn't resist its temptation.

  Holly made an incoherent sound, and then subsided into his arms. It was a long time before he released her.